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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30119217">Life After Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmazonWorrier/pseuds/AmazonWorrier'>AmazonWorrier</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Deviations [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Glee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, abortion but nothing graphic, dash of angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:34:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,151</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30119217</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmazonWorrier/pseuds/AmazonWorrier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel's pregnancy test isn't a false positive. Santana's the only one who knows, and it's going to stay that way.</p><p>Canon divergent from 4x15</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rachel Berry &amp; Kurt Hummel, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Rachel Berry/Santana Lopez, Santana Lopez &amp; Quinn Fabray</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Deviations [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The One Where Rachel Realises</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Shout out to the Pezberry anon a few weeks back who wrote me a really lovely message on Tumblr but asked me not to respond to it. It made my day and got me writing again, so please enjoy this bonus Pezberry fic as a thank you.</p><p>(and to the rest of you - I appreciate you all too). </p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel’s not sure when it started.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Perhaps it was the day they first sang a duet together in Glee club, or maybe before then at some point, after Santana started dating Brittany and realised it was okay to treat her friends like actual human beings for once. Maybe it was after graduation, when they all went to Puck’s house and they shared that moment in the kitchen when Santana was drunk, and crying and… </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s impossible to say <em>when </em>it started. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All Rachel knows is that Santana Lopez was meant to be a tiny little footnote on a single page in her story, left behind in a chapter that closed the minute she hopped on a train to New York. Now, Santana’s somehow weaselled her way back into Rachel’s life, graduating from background extra into a leading role without so much as a polite hello on her way through the front door. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Rachel’s not entirely sure how she feels about sharing that spotlight yet either. Not with Santana, of all people. She’d literally take anyone else over Santana. </span> <span class="s1">Alas, it may not be something she has any control over at all. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Because she’s pregnant.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Except, she can’t be. Not now. It’s not an option.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel’s mind is made up the minute the doctor confirms her test result.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She can’t tell Kurt, because he’s the voice of reason and often her only moral compass. He’ll offer humanity and compassion where Rachel needs pragmatism and cold rationality. Ruthlessness. Rachel needs someone who understands her ambition enough to know why now is absolutely <em>not</em> the right time for her to bring a child into the world without asking. And she needs someone who won’t judge her for it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana barely bats an eyelid when Rachel asks if she’ll accompany her to the clinic. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then it’s over. Santana holds her in bed while she cries because Rachel may be ambitious to a fault but she’s not <em>cruel. </em>Her body is in trauma, and she feels every inch of herself trembling under the weight of what she’s just done. She doesn’t regret it for a second, but hates herself for that even more. Rachel cries until there are no tears left, then manages to find some more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They agree to tell no one; not Finn, not Kurt… definitely not Brody. Santana lays with her, cradling Rachel’s body in her arms and whispering reassurances in lieu of her usual snark, until the sun sets and Rachel asks her to leave.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They never speak of it again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a moment Rachel takes as an indication that she and Santana are officially friends now. Her uninvited roommate’s involvement in the incident leaves little room for argument. It’s going to be Rachel Berry and Santana Lopez vs. The World, an unlikely tale of enemies turned <em>best friends, </em>and it’s going to remain that way until the day they die. There’s no other choice.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel’s couldn’t possibly let a secret like that fall into the hands of an enemy.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The thing is…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana’s actually a good person. It’s just that her tongue sells her short a lot of the time and makes her seem like a bitch. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which, okay, she <em>is.</em> She’ll own that. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">People annoy the fuck out of her and she doesn’t mind letting them know. It’s part of her charm. </span> <span class="s1">Still, that doesn’t make her a bad person, or a bad friend. Just a rude one. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana firmly believes she’s actually quite a decent friend. Some may even say a great one.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Exhibit A: </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She finds a pregnancy test in the bathroom bin that could only belong to one Rachel Barbra Berry, because Kurt’s a guy and she’s a lesbian. Instead of taking a photograph of said pregnancy test and sending it to all of their friends with the caption ‘Quinn 2.0 - is it <em>really </em>Finn’s this time?’ Santana stays quiet. She waits for the snowstorm to pass, making only subtle jibes at Rachel the whole time to see if she cracks, then approaches her about it properly when no one is around. Then, when Rachel snots all over her favourite jacket, she comforts her.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Exhibit B: </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana books Rachel an appointment at the doctor’s office, just like she did for Quinn, to confirm the pregnancy test result. She tells Rachel that cheap drug store tests aren’t exactly known for being 100% accurate all of the time and there’s no point freaking out until they know they really have to. Santana takes her to the appointment herself, doesn’t make a <em>single</em> Franken-baby joke the whole time they’re there, and lets Rachel’s clammy little hand clutch onto her’s while they await the results. She even holds off until Rachel’s not looking before she washes them, like a real friend.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Exhibit C: </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel tells Santana she wants to get an abortion and instead of transforming into the kind of mouthpiece you’d expect from the quirky sidekick in an After School Special, she takes a second to understand where she’s coming from. Rachel Berry’s wanted one thing, and one thing only, since the day Santana first met her: to be a Broadway Star. She’s also a broke, first-year college student, barely scraping by in New York as it is because this shit is expensive enough for one, let alone two.<span class="Apple-converted-space">  Even a</span> gay Dad's allowance only gets you so far in a place like this. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No, Santana is certain that if Rachel has that baby she’s going to end up back in Lima living the life she ran away from, and that just seems cruel. Santana can’t stand Rachel most of the time, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t respect her. Okay, maybe it kind of does. But <em>not </em>when it comes to her decision about something like this. Santana will always respect a person’s right to choose. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes her to the clinic, and holds her while she cries.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Exhibit D</em> is just…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, it’s just fucking insane. Honestly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana deserves to be knighted by the Queen of England, or damed, or whatever. Because she’s a freaking saint. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It happens about a week after what Rachel has not-so-subtly been calling ‘the incident,’ which is often rushed out in a hurried whisper even when no one is around. Santana’s ridiculously riled up when she gets home from work, because the manager had her grinding up against the <em>second</em> hottest dancer in the bar all night and she’s only human. Plus, she hasn’t been with anyone since Quinn and Mr. Schue’s wedding was weeks ago. She’s a little on edge.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel is tipsy when she walks through the front door, and if Santana weren’t so worried she’d almost be impressed. There are about seven pans boiling over on the stove, even though they’ve only got room for four, and different music seems to be playing from speakers all across the loft. Rachel’s in the middle of all of it, dancing around and unabashedly singing off-key. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s probably the biggest giveaway of all that something is wrong.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Rachel,” Santana calls out, huffing when her roommate pointedly ignores her in favour of sipping more wine, straight from the bottle, and bopping her head to the music.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She waits, patiently (because, again, she’s a <em>good </em>person most of the time), until Rachel finally turns to look at her with that wobbly smile on her face she always wears when drunk. Santana fights the urge to roll her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel reaches an arm out and practically falls against her, “Santana. You’re home.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re drunk,” Santana comments wryly, catching her roommate then reaching out to turn the stove off. Half of the pots don’t even have food in them. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sets Rachel down at the table, moving to turn off all the speakers she can find and opting to ignore the one she can’t. It’s playing pretty good music anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not normal for Rachel to be drunk on a weeknight, and that might be why Santana avoids looking at her for a while. She’s had a long day at work. It turns out people in bars use waitresses as therapists quite a lot, and Santana can handle being a friendly ear to a stranger if she’s being paid for it, but she can’t come home and lend a friendly ear to a friend as well. Not on the same day. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Rachel’s eyes are watery, and Santana realises she’s not being given a choice in the matter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs, kneeling down in front of her friend so they’re at eye level. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You <em>know </em>what’s wrong,” Rachel pouts, like an actual child. Santana is so over this conversation and it’s barely even started yet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you want to get really trashed?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel’s grinning shyly back at her, and it’s the only response Santana needs. She’s always been better at drinking than talking anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They get drunk really quickly once Santana swaps the cheap wine out for stuff from her secret stash instead. Her parents bought her a bottle of really expensive rum for graduation and they have coke in the fridge already, so it’s kind of a no-brainer. Plus, Rachel’s fun on rum. Santana learnt that the night after graduation. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kurt’s out with Adam, and Rachel’s newly single so they don't have to worry about the hairless mannequin coming home and ruining the mood anymore. It only takes a couple of drinks before Santana starts to feel that warm, fuzzy glow rush through her. Honestly, it’s kind of awesome.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fairly soon after that, they end up dancing on the kitchen table.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nothing good ever comes from dancing on a kitchen table, drunk, on a weeknight. Santana should’ve known that already, but she was certainly reminded of it the minute Rachel’s foot slipped off the edge, tipping her backwards and onto the floor with a loud thud. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit, Rachel.” Santana drops down to check on her, the room whirling around her as she lands. It stops fairly quickly though, so she figures she’s basically still sober. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel sits up, rubbing her jaw as she frowns at the table like it was personally responsible for her accident. It’d almost be cute if it wasn’t Rachel. Wait, was it cute? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Okay, maybe Santana <em>was </em>drunk.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Either way, Rachel doesn’t say anything, so Santana guesses she must be in pain or something. She reaches forward instinctively, not really thinking it through until she’s already touching the side of Rachel’s cheek, grazing her fingers over the angry red sore spot that seemed to be bothering her so much. By the time she realises what her hand is doing, it’s too late to stop it. Rachel’s already noticed and she’s looking at Santana like <em>that. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana swallows, suddenly becoming far too aware of how close they’ve ended up sitting together. What little sense is left in her brain screams at her to abort mission but her body has kind of stopped listening. She’s drunk, horny, <em>super gay</em> and, honestly, kind of attracted to Rachel Berry right now…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel’s lips press into her’s and it’s the sweetest thing Santana’s tasted in weeks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s also a <em>bad </em>idea.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Rachel,” Santana presses a hand against her shoulder, gently pushing her away. She says the only thing she can think of that will remind them both of why they were even drinking in the first place tonight. They clearly need it. “You’re not thinking straight.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Obviously,” Rachel quips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana laughs, because it’s a cliched response and therefore super lame, but she’s drunk enough to find it funny anyway. Also, if she laughs that means she gets to avoid addressing the double meaning. Because Rachel <em>isn’t </em>thinking straight. She’s in a fragile state of mind and doesn’t deserve to be taken advantage of, no matter how drunk they might both happen to be. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s the only thing on Santana’s mind from that moment onward, even if she doesn’t say it out loud. She stands up and tugs Rachel with her, ignoring the way her heart still races.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sit down,” Santana directs Rachel to the living room, “I’ll get you some ice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">To her credit, Rachel actually does as she’s told for once. The last thing Santana sees before she opens the freezer is a body flopping face first into the couch cushions. Rachel’s fast asleep by the time Santana makes it back to her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She ices Rachel’s cheek anyway, slipping into the small space next to the arm of the couch and tugging her friend’s head onto her lap for better access. Rachel whimpers softly at the contact, turning into Santana’s body in her sleep and burying her face against Santana’s stomach. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana freezes, embarrassed by the immediate warmth that rushes through her body as Rachel releases a soft puff of air against the exposed flesh where her shirt has ridden up. She may not have had sex in a while, but there’s no way in hell Santana Lopez will ever be desperate enough to become the kind of person who cracks onto her straight friends when they’re drunk and vulnerable. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She reaches slowly for the remote, turning on a re-run of some 80’s sitcom and letting it numb her brain until she cools down. It takes a while, but she gets there. Rachel sleeps soundly in her lap for the rest of the evening and wakes up with no memory of the incident, whatsoever. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">See? A good freaking person.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Of course Rachel remembers it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She remembers it feeling good, and she remembers being rejected. Therefore, memory loss seemed like the easiest way out for both of them. Besides, Santana was right. Rachel <em>wasn’t </em>thinking straight. She was grateful that her friend had possessed enough sense for both of them and put a stop to it before anything really started. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The only issue was that it’d now been nearly two months and Rachel still didn’t seem to be thinking straight. Especially not when it came to Santana.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’d thrown her into a bit of an existential crisis.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Obviously Rachel has been attracted to girls before. How could she not be? She went to high school with people like Quinn Fabray, Brittany Pierce and, yes, <em>Santana Lopez</em>. They may have made her life hell half the time but she still had eyes. Being around them had always been a little intoxicating... Once they became friends and Rachel realised it wasn’t fear giving her butterflies around them anymore, she had to assume it was something else.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No, Rachel isn’t freaking out over her sexuality. She’s been sure of her identity for quite some time. She’s freaking out because at no point in her life has she ever imagined that the person she might find herself wanting to explore those inclinations with would be one of the very same girls who actively tortured her for four years in high school.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Honestly, it kind of feels like the universe might be playing some sort of cruel joke on her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She most certainly isn't laughing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It's late on a Friday night. They’re lying on the couch watching Facts of Life, because it’s Kurt’s turn to choose. He’s tucked into a corner with his boyfriend pillow, Rachel's snuggled up in a blanket against the other, and Santana’s curled in a ball between them because she’s too lazy to go and grab a blanket or jumper for herself. Rachel shouldn’t find it half as endearing as she does.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” Rachel whispers, poking Santana lightly in the arm to get her attention. Kurt’s in a mood, and she’s not stupid enough to talk over his favourite comfort show.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana turns to look at her, “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you want to share some of my blanket?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not even that cold.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As Santana says it, a shiver rocks through her body. Rachel bites back a triumphant smirk, knowing that it’ll get her in trouble. She lifts the edge of the blanket up in offering, and Santana frowns, shaking her head only to concede defeat less than a minute later.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine,” she grumbles, shuffling in closer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s more than enough blanket for Santana to have stayed where she was, but before Rachel knows what’s happening they’re pressed up next to each other. Santana positions herself so that her head is resting against Rachel’s shoulder, yanking the blanket up around them both until they’re cocooned in. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Santana’s a cuddler. It’s perhaps the most surprising discovery Rachel has made about her friend since she moved in, but now that she knows it feels almost foolish to have ever assumed otherwise. </span> <span class="s1">Santana’s body is warm against hers, and Rachel aches to reach out and touch her more than she’d like to admit. She doesn’t though, because that would be leery and uncomfortable, especially when Santana’s already made it clear that she’s not interested. So, Rachel focuses on the television, clasping her hands together in her lap under the blanket to ensure they don’t go wandering without permission.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They make it through about four episodes like that before Rachel’s eyelids begin to feel heavy. She’s wary of falling asleep like this, because last time she fell asleep against Santana she woke up with her face pressed into her lap and honestly it was a little overwhelming. Kurt is still fixated on the TV, ignoring them like he always does after a bad day. Rachel makes a mental note to interrogate him about it tomorrow, when she has the energy to do so. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel fights the tiredness for a little while longer, until Santana’s breathing steadies against her shoulder and she glances down to find that her friend is already asleep. In that case, it would almost be ruder to stay awake, wouldn’t it? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She closes her eyes and lets sleep finally take her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Santana isn’t there when Rachel wakes up. </span> <span class="s1">There’s commotion in the kitchen, which Rachel follows only to find Kurt brutally beating a batch of eggs in a mixing bowl. A wave of disappointment washes over her, but she elects to ignore it. Kurt notices her and offers the usual morning nod.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re up late,” he observes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel checks the clock, it’s nearly 10am. Given that it’s a Saturday morning, it hardly feels like something that warrants an explanation. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where’s Santana?” she asks instead, “I thought she had the day off today.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kurt throws the eggs into a fry pan, shrugging, “She left earlier. Something about a breakfast date.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">Rachel nods, swallowing the hurt she feels because it's both unreasonable and unjustified, then takes a seat at the empty table. Her eyes flicker to a certain spot on the floor like they always seemed to be doing lately, and Rachel feels an acute sense of sadness punch her in the stomach right after she politely asks it not to.</p><p class="p2">She waits there, pathetically, until Santana arrives home several hours later, gloating about the cute girl from her date and how being a single person in New York is the best thing that's ever happened to her. Rachel smiles and nods and laughs in all the right places, like a good friend should.</p><p class="p2">It shouldn't hurt as much as it does. </p><p class="p2">She elects to ignore that too.</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The One Where Santana Realises</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana’s not sure when she became friends with Rachel Berry, but it’s exhausting.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There's a slight chance she might actually be close to developing a stress-induced stomach ulcer over all the time she’s been spending with her roommate lately. It's not even funny anymore. Rachel wakes up early, sings obnoxiously loudly in the shower, burns every meal she cooks, squawks whenever something excites her, gets oddly possessive about fridge space and has at least four emotional breakdowns a day. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s <em>exhausting.</em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Of those breakdowns, it seems at least three fall under Santana’s remit because they relate to that whopping great secret she’s agreed to keep, and Kurt is obviously starting to catch onto the fact that he’s been sidelined. It’s hard to miss, especially when he catches Santana sneaking out of Rachel’s room at five in the morning because she’s been in there comforting her all night.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Still, she’s hardly going to jump to defend it because a) it’ll make them look even more suspicious and b) Rachel’s bed is comfy, and she deserves a reward after spending half her night reassuring a hysterical singing hobbit that she made the right decision during an impossible situation with no real happy ending. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’ve slept together most nights this week, so much so that Santana’s almost stopped caring that she has to be the big spoon all the time. She’ll be any size spoon Rachel wants if it means not having to sleep on that concrete block of a couch anymore.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which actually brings Santana to her next point… </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel Berry might possibly be the most self-absorbed person she has ever met. Period. They’ve lived together in the loft for three months now, and Rachel still hasn’t had the decency to offer Santana a room of her own even though there’s a gaping hole in between her and Kurt’s curtains which Rachel refers to as their ‘break-out space.’ What even <em>is </em>that?</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Obviously Rachel being a selfish person isn’t some sort of sudden, shocking revelation. Santana <em>did </em>go to school with her, after all. Rachel has about twenty five massive personal flaws that she refuses to work on, it’s just that Santana never thought the day would come where she’d start to see all of them as quirks instead. It’s a problem because quirks aren’t annoying, they’re endearing. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana kind of likes Rachel now.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re <em>friends. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s why, after Rachel’s ‘incident,’ Santana sees that she’s still struggling and goes about doing little things to cheer her up. That’s what friends do, right? See, you get it. Anyone who’s ever had an actual friend <em>gets it. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It starts small. She’ll see Rachel’s favourite snacks on sale in the health foods aisle and grab some on her way out of the grocery store, or there’ll be a two-for-one deal at the juice bar, so it just makes sense to get Rachel one too since Kurt has certain moral reservations about green juice. Sometimes if Santana’s feeling particularly nice she’ll even rent one of those classic broadway films from down the street on tape, like it’s 1960 or something, and set it up to watch on the projector in Rachel’s room if neither of them have plans on a Friday night. If cheesy crap like that is what makes Rachel happy, then Santana’s willing to do it. She’ll literally do anything to make Rachel stop crying so often. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Anything.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not a big deal. Or it shouldn’t be, except Rachel’s never really had a super close girl friend before because no one liked her all that much in high school, and now she’s totally overreacting to receiving like… basic human kindness.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Take now, for instance. Rachel’s been looking for some stupid sheet music all over town for a few weeks, and Santana managed to get her hands on a copy earlier today. All she did was buy some paper with music notes on it and leave it out for when Rachel got home, but now her roommate is staring at her from across the kitchen table like she’s literally just been given the cure for cancer. Her eyes are all shiny and her lip is wobbling. It’s gross.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Santana busies herself unpacking her shopping, “You said you needed it for your Fanny audition.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel nods slowly, her voice cracks, “You remembered?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course,” Santana brags, wandering over to the couch and kicking off her shoes, “The girl at that music store on Fifth is <em>super</em> into me. I asked her to put in a special order.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel stiffens at that for some reason, flopping petulantly down onto the empty cushion beside her, “Oh, I see.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If Santana didn’t know for certain that Rachel Berry was 100% heterosexual, she might mistake Rachel’s reaction for jealousy. Instead, she’s starting to think Rachel just has an aversion to her being nice, because every time she tries things only seem to get more awkward between them. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s probably because she’s been such a bitch for so long, or something, and Rachel’s getting some sort of emotional whiplash. Still, Santana thought she’d been doing more than enough to prove herself lately, especially after the whole abortion thing. The constant suspicion and judgement is getting old.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s with the attitude?” Santana sits forward, eyebrow raised.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s no attitude,” Rachel pouts.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes there is.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, there isn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana watches her roommate carefully. She’s always been pretty good at sensing when Rachel is hiding something, even before they were friends. For an aspiring actor she’s pretty terrible at concealing her emotions. But there was literally no conceivable reason for Rachel to be acting like an ungrateful twelve year old right now. Nothing Santana could think of, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jesus, Berry,” she rolls her eyes, turning the TV on. “Just say thank you and move on.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel’s cheeks flush, then she stands up and skulks off to her room with her new sheet music clutched to her chest like some sort of precious commodity. When she speaks, she might as well be marching off to war, “Thank you, Santana.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re welcome.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The curtains squeak as they’re yanked shut, and for some inexplicable reason Santana once again feels like she’s done something wrong.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Exhausting.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<hr/>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel Berry does not have a crush on Santana Lopez.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kurt Hummel does not believe her. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t,” she reiterates firmly, ignoring the way Kurt stares skeptically at her over his third bagel for the morning. A change in tact seems appropriate, and far more relevant, “You should slow down with those.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kurt purses his lips, setting his food back down on the table. They’re at a charming little cafe a few blocks down from the loft, because Kurt demanded an ‘intervention’ weeks ago and Rachel finally ran out of believable reasons to reschedule. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“First of all, these are gluten free so it barely counts,” Kurt tears a piece of his bagel off, waving it at her. “Secondly, yes you do. Why else would you be acting so weird around her all the time?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because it’s <em>Santana. </em>She makes me uncomfortable,” Rachel bites back. She feels almost guilty for even attempting to get away with it, but old truths are far easier to fall back on than new lies.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah yes,” Kurt nods, voice dripping with sarcasm, “I too enjoy snuggling frequently up against people who make me uncomfortable. There’s truly nothing more relaxing.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel flinches. Admittedly there <em>has</em> been quite a bit of cuddling lately.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As Kurt awaits an explanation, Rachel considers whether it might be prudent to use this opportunity to instead reveal the rather large secret she’s been carrying around lately. It’s a plausible reason, given Santana’s involvement, meaning she could divert Kurt’s suspicion rather adequately without having to continue down this particular line of conversation which, in all honesty, she’s been desperately trying not to devote much attention to. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her next thought is to marvel at how dire her circumstances must be that the very thought of admitting to Santana having supported her through an abortion now seems more palatable than admitting to having feelings for her.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Not that Rachel has feelings.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">At most it's an appreciation of Santana's overall physicality coupled with a growing affection towards her as a former enemy-turned-surprisingly-loyal-friend.</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Besides, she's been itching to tell Kurt about it all for a while anyway. The abortion, that is. Not the feelings (of which, Rachel will politely remind you that she doesn’t have any). Because Santana may have recently become her closest friend by necessity, but Kurt is her best friend by <em>choice. </em>Best friends are supposed to tell each other things. It's one of the seven rules.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Letting Kurt in on the incident might take some of the more immediate pressure off of her and Santana’s friendship too, given that currently Santana is the only one capable of understanding why Rachel has inexplicably developed a unique tendency to cry at any given moment for no reason whatsoever. Which, as one can imagine, is not helping Rachel much in the way of quelling her growing <em>platonic </em>affection towards her admittedly attractive roommate. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Still, the thought of actually telling Kurt makes her nervous. He probably wouldn’t judge her for it now that it’s happened, but then again he might. And if he were to take it upon himself to tell Finn…</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not acting weird,” she settles for instead.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kurt raises a dubious eyebrow, stirring his tea, “And I’m not the Queen of England.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re <em>not </em>the Queen of England,” Rachel quips.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my God, Rachel. It’s an expression.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think you’re using it right.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The waiter collects their empty plates, and Kurt steals the opportunity to ask for another bagel. He holds a hand up to stop Rachel before the criticism even leaves her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t even start. I’m very stressed right now,” he rambles defensively, “Blaine’s on my case about getting back together, we have exams coming up, and every time I come home I’m terrified I’ll find my best friend with her mouth buried in my other roommate’s lap in our living room again.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bagel arrives at the table, and Rachel snatches it from him out of spite more than anything else. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That was <em>one </em>time,” she mumbles through a mouthful, “I <em>fell asleep</em>,” then jabs a finger into the table, chewing furiously. “And Santana is <em>very</em> comfortable.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kurt considers that for a moment, then shrugs, “She has another date tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Off all the rebuttals Rachel had been mapping out responses for, it’s not on the list. She stops just shy of spitting out her bagel.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where on Earth is she finding all of these women?!” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kurt’s mouth twitches upward into a smug grin, and Rachel kicks herself for taking the bait so easily. She reddens, burying her head into her hands in defeat against the table. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Kurt chuckles, “I’m getting another bagel. Want one?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Make it three.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<hr/>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alright, Rachel Berry is totally not straight.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe 50% at most. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s Santana’s fault for making assumptions, really. As the former school slut and outstanding heterosexual™ she really should’ve known better. A history of sleeping with guys doesn’t automatically disqualify you from batting for the other team. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Not that she’s saying Rachel’s a lesbian. She could be bisexual like Brittany, or even just very confused. Either way, Rachel’s tendency to exclusively date Ken dolls, theatre geeks and Frankenteens suddenly seems like it might possibly be less of a ‘poor decision making’ thing and more of an ‘I’m dating the most obvious leading man in my life because that’s what the Broadway shows told me to do’ thing. In hindsight, Santana probably should’ve seen this from a mile away. Especially after Rachel got drunk and kissed her that one time.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then again, that’s a very straight girl thing to do, right?</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just ask Quinn.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Anyway, Santana’s first indication that Rachel’s actually been secretly skating somewhere slightly higher along the Kinsey Scale all these years comes the day her roommate catches her getting out of the shower. It’s her fault for not locking the door, but she didn’t think anyone was home. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So, Santana’s completely exposed, one leg out of the tub, when Rachel walks in. They stare at each other in shock for a minute, during which time Rachel does <em>absolutely nothing </em>to make her beady little eyes focus somewhere else. Instead, she rakes over every inch of Santana’s body as if trying to commit it all to memory.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Every. Inch.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Still, Santana figures it’s probably the sexiest body Rachel’s ever seen up close so she cuts her a little slack and politely asks to be handed a towel. That’s that.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The second clue she gets is slightly harder to overlook.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She spills coffee on her laptop and borrows Rachel’s without asking, because her and Kurt are out having high tea at some place he’s been bugging her about going to for weeks, so she’ll never know. What? It’s Rachel’s fault for having such an obvious password.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All Santana wanted to do was check her emails, but she opened the damn thing up to find freaking lesbian porn just sitting there open for any unsuspecting guest user to accidentally stumble upon. Call her naive all you want, but Santana had been just <em>fine </em>pretending Berry didn’t even know what porn was up until that point. She would’ve gladly lived the rest of her life in blissful ignorance.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a moment Santana genuinely thought maybe <em>she’d </em>been the one watching it on Rachel’s laptop and had just forgotten or something. But she clicks play for a few seconds and it’s really crappy quality, so there’s no way it’s hers. Santana has excellent taste when it comes to porn, and she’d probably get more of a buzz out of a well-written Rizzoli and Isles smut fic than whatever this male gaze shit masquerading as lesbian porn is. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After that, Santana starts to think that maybe Rachel is at least a little curious about how the other half live. She could hardly blame her. Women are hot.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The third time doesn't involve an ounce of nudity, but it’s the most glaringly obvious clue of all.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana’s just got back from Lima and her head is an absolute mess. It turns out that Brittany’s a genius. Obviously Santana already knew that, but now the rest of the world has caught up and Brittany’s heading off to MIT to show them all how great she is. Santana’s proud, but it’s bittersweet because a part of her had kind of expected Brittany to randomly show up in New York after graduation and now that dream has been killed, along with every last molecule of hope she had about the two of them possibly getting back together one day.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So, yeah. It’s a bittersweet goodbye. Santana barely makes it through Brittany’s disgustingly heartfelt speech to Sam about how much she loves him without breaking down, but she lasts long enough to get a tearful hug of her own that says more than any number of words ever could. Everyone else in that choir room knows it too. Even Sam. She's fairly certain that's why he called her back in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The New Directions win regionals, then Mr. Schue gets married to Ms. Pillsbury in the choir room of all places. Their spontaneous union changes the momentum, and somehow Santana finds herself having dirty, frantic, end-of-the-world goodbye sex with Brittany out in the McKinley High parking lot, in the back of her Dad’s brand new Mercedes. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yeah, don’t even. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her head is a mess.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she finally makes the trek home, Rachel’s in the living room watching TV all alone. Santana sets her keys down on the table, stalling when she hears the familiar line from one of her favourite movies. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“You’re a wanker, number nine!”</em> </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And just like that, Santana knows. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” she shrugs her jacket off, concealing a smirk. Is it weird that she’s a little bit proud of Rachel for this? It probably is.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel springs up from the couch, frantically swatting tears away from her eyes. Of course that scene would be making her cry. What <em>didn’t </em>she cry over these days?</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re home early,” she sniffs, making her way into the kitchen, “Kurt said there was meant to be some big party to celebrate Mr. Schue’s impromptu wedding.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">At the mention of Lima, what little pleasure she'd been taking from the coming out party she'd been throwing in her head disappears. </span> <span class="s1">She scans the fridge, slamming it shut when she realises there’s nothing worthy of stress-snacking on, “I didn’t feel much like celebrating.” </span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Things didn’t go so well with Brittany then?” Rachel asks, observing Santana cautiously.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s too soon for Santana to talk about any of that, and frankly, she doesn’t want to. Brittany, her first and only love, is finally leaving Lima, but not for New York. What else is there to say? </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s over.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fuck, she needs a drink.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana rushes to her favourite shelf, stalling when she finds that it’s been emptied out. “Where the hell is my tequila?” It fills her with an unjustifiable rage, and she advances on Rachel almost immediately, “You better not have finished my tequila, Berry.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t make a habit of drinking rat poison,” Rachel sounds bored, her voice laced with condescension as usual. For the first time in months, Santana actually finds it irritating.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well yeah, it probably wouldn’t mix well with all that misoprostol, would it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s way out of line, Santana knows it. But she can’t take it back, and Rachel’s already recoiled. She swallows tightly, folding her arms and avoiding Santana’s gaze. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry,” Santana winces, not sure whether to be ashamed or simply furious at herself. She settles for both, “That was not about you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It sounded like it was about me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I mean it <em>was</em>. But it wasn’t,” Santana inwardly cringes. She’s screwing this up big time, “It’s been a rough day.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel doesn’t relent. She’s impassive, waiting for more of an explanation. The problem is that there’s not really <em>any </em>valid excuse for what Santana’s just said, so she settles for handing Rachel just enough rope to hang her with instead.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I slept with Brittany.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It gets a rise out of Rachel immediately, but not the one Santana was hoping for that would result in a stern lecture about making rash decisions. Rachel just scoffs incredulously and says absolutely nothing. Now that Santana’s cottoned on to the whole lady-loving situation, it’s kind of hard to view it as anything other than jealousy.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She <em>really</em> hopes that’s just her ego talking.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So are you guys back together?” Rachel sounds sad, disappointed.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nope, definitely not her ego.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana hesitates, because if her suspicions <em>are </em>correct then her talking about Brittany in any shape or form would probably hurt Rachel, just like hearing Rachel talk about Finn would probably really hur-</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No, wait. That’s not what…</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Shit. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Really?</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Absolutely not. Rachel’s potential feelings are her own and completely one sided. Once that's settled, Santana also comes to the conclusion that right now she needs a friend way more than she cares about being one, so whatever issue Rachel has with her will need to take a back seat for once. It’s about time she returned the favour.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” she laughs brokenly, “Not even close.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The loft is silent. They stand opposite each other, Rachel’s eyes are glazed over and once again Santana struggles to get a read on her. Then, she steps slowly forward into Santana’s space, and it’s both embarrassing and a little surprising how overwhelming it is to have her there. Santana inhales slowly, trying and failing to steady her breath without Rachel noticing the profound affect all of this is having on her for some reason. When Rachel steps in even closer, Santana actually forgets how to breathe for a second.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What the hell?</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel’s eyes dart to her lips, then tentative fingers graze gently over Santana’s own. It’s brazen, and it disarms Santana completely. She finds herself thinking of that night with all the table dancing, and it's hard not to recall the taste of Rachel on her lips, as much as she tries to swat the memory away. Her logical, sensible side still remains present enough for her to also be genuinely baffled by the idea that Rachel might actually be deluded enough to think <em>now </em>is even close to the right time for them to-</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m going to hug you now.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, that probably makes more sense.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All Santana can do is nod and allow herself to be tugged down into Rachel’s arms. She takes comfort in the embrace, dutifully ignoring the unsettling niggle bouncing around the pit of her stomach that feels a little too close to disappointment.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They don’t talk for a few hours after that, but Santana follows Rachel to her room and they watch a movie on her laptop even though Kurt isn’t home and they’ve got a perfectly functioning television out in the common area. They’re curled up under the blankets with about half an inch of space between them, and every time Santana moves she brushes up against Rachel in a way that is just…</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Totally <em>not </em>okay now that she knows Rachel might actually be an option?</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, not an option.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But maybe… </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you think you’ll ever get over her?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s barely a whisper. Santana glances over to look at Rachel, finding herself immediately caught by a pair cautiously optimistic brown eyes, of which she’s grown far too accustomed to waking up to lately. She rolls onto her side until they’re facing each other fully, hyperaware of the need to maintain that precious inch of space between them at all times.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know,” Santana exhales shakily, “I thought I was starting to, but I guess not.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel nods, “It’s scary. Getting over someone.” She adjusts herself against the pillow, propping her head up against one elbow, then shakes her head in disbelief, “I used to think I was going to marry Finn.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana chuckles, but the admission makes her nervous. She doesn’t want to think about why, “So you think you’re over him then? Finn?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel sucks in a deep breath and her whole body trembles. Santana can feel it through the mattress. Her hands itch to reach out and comfort her, but she holds them back. Stupid instincts.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know,” Rachel sighs, “I haven’t really been thinking about him at all lately,” then reaches out, absently tracing circles over the blanket covering Santana’s arm. “I’m not sure how to feel about that yet.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Santana gulps, the words leave her before she has a chance to make sense of them, or consider whether they even <em>make sense. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me neither.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A tiny, near-imperceptible nod is the only response Rachel gives, and that must mean she understands even if Santana doesn’t. She yawns, eyes drifting shut only moments later, and Santana finds herself watching for a moment longer than she probably should. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rachel rolls away from her, shuffling back to press her body into Santana’s chest. It’s instinctive, the way Santana’s hand comes to close around Rachel’s waist, chin tucking into her neck as she settles into the beginnings of a restful sleep herself. It’s a well worn routine by now, comfortingly familiar.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Too familiar.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It triggers an alarm bell; a warning Santana would be foolish not to heed. She cracks one eye open then extracts herself from the covers, careful not to wake Rachel. There's a split second of hesitation, but then she tiptoes quietly out of the room, deciding to forgo the couch and make the most of Kurt’s empty bed for a change instead. Strangely, sleep isn't half as easy to come by after that.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="sleep half as easy to come by after"> <span class="s1">Must be the mattress.</span> </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
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